


Fire and Ice

by ShireChef



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Chef OC, Hockey Player Levi, Just a quick fic that I had in my head, Levi finds it hot, Lots of Cursing, OC is a hothead, bad food puns, sorry if its bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:01:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23328937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShireChef/pseuds/ShireChef
Summary: Sam was just trying to get through her shift at Signal Flair when a group of self entitled pricks step all over her very last nerve. Job be damned, she was going to give them a piece of her mind. Oh shit, is that Levi Ackerman?
Relationships: Levi/Original Female Character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Fire and Ice

**Author's Note:**

> This was something I had written a while ago that is probably the only one shot I've ever finished and not been like 20 pages long, so enjoy???? 
> 
> Please and thank you!

The kitchen was bustling Saturday night at Signal Flair. Plates were flying out the window. All the chefs were working in perfect rhythm. It was loud, it was crazy, it was hot and hectic, but it was such a rush. Sam lived for it. Running the sauté station, repeating orders as Mike called them, listening to the rest of the line shout how much time they needed. The dance was one they had perfected over the years. Jean ran the grill, Bertholt the pasta, and Ymir was on garde manger and pastry. Sam kept a close eye on the plates as they came up in the window. If even one carrot was out of place, Mike would scream. If a sauce smelled burnt, he’d throw the plate back in your face. Sam had a scar on her right cheek from a bowl thrown years ago. It was a fond memory. Mike had bought her a bottle of scotch the next day in apology. 

“Got a tasting!” Sasha called, coming in just as a ticked printed. Tasting menu for four. No allergies. 

“Let’s start them off with the grilled octo! Tasting size!” Mike called. “Get the plates prepped for ostrich heart pastrami to follow!” 

“Four tasting octo, followed by a heartbeat!” Sam shouted. 

“Grilling octopus now!” Jean pulled the tentacles from the low boy. “Give me five minutes!” 

“Five on the octo, getting plates set up!” Ymir pulled four small rectangle plates down and painted them carefully with black sesame octopus ink. Sam was busy plating up two snappers to go with a pork chop and spaghetti with duck ragu. The tasting got approval from Mike went out the door only to come back within a minute of hitting the table. 

“They said they don’t like the octopus.” Sasha said quietly. Sam stared at the plate. Not a single piece was out of place. Alright, so these people were assholes. Nothing they couldn’t handle. 

“Set up those pastrami. Let’s see them have issue with one of our best dishes!” Mike announced. Ymir set to work, calling out a quick two minutes. Sam pushed the order out of her mind. She had other things to worry about, like three sides of brussel sprouts to go with Jean’s ribeyes, and two perfectly seared swordfish. It was only when Mike cursed that she looked up. Four pastrami came back untouched. Without hesitation she set to work before Mike could call it. 

“Sam” 

“On it, Chef.” She threw jumbo scallops into a searing pan and cooked them to the perfect temperature. The plate was decorated with a swipe of sunchoke puree and dotted with a caper sauce. This was her dish. Her creation. No one turned this dish down. Not if they knew anything about flavor. Mike had warned her when she came to him with this dish. He’d told her that if she wanted to use it here, that it would be his dish, that it would always be associated with his restaurant. If she took it anywhere, she’d be considered a copycat. He asked if she was sure she wanted to sell it here. She agreed without hesitation. Hell, half of the damn menu was her creation at this point. She’d follow Mike to hell and back. She didn’t care whose name was on the fucking restaurant. The dishes went out and came back again, untouched. Sam slammed her sauté pan. Everyone flinched. Sam was known for holding her temper in, but she had seen something the others hadn’t. Sasha was on the verge of tears. 

“BEHIND!” Sam called, walking past Bertholt. He let her pass; risking overcooking his pasta, but there was no way he was getting in her way. Sam immediately went to Sasha who was talking with Mike. Her breathing was ragged and she was now crying. Seat two had insulted Sasha, calling her a shitty waitress and completely inept at her job. Seat three had shit talked Mike and the food. The head chef looked defeated. He told her to comp their meal and ask them to leave. For being such a hard man in the kitchen, Mike took it personally when guests complained. It always pissed Sam off. He couldn’t go yell at customers because that would cause bad reviews. 

“I can’t go out there, Mike.” Sasha gasped. “The blonde lady….seat three….she’s so mean.” 

“I got this.” Sam grabbed the four dishes that had come back and carefully balanced them on her arms. “Just stand behind me Sasha.” 

“Sam, no” 

“Yes, Chef. No one makes our staff cry. No one insults this institution. We look out for our own. You may not be able to go out there, but I can.” Mike blocked her path. 

“If you go out there, you’re fired.” Sam nodded. 

“Understood, Chef.” 

“At least put on a clean coat.” 

“They haven’t earned it.” She placed her back against the swinging door and beelined for table twenty three. Sasha whispered the rundown to her. Seats two and three were the worst of the bunch, claiming to know a lot about food. Seat one was just keeping their mouth shut and looking embarrassed. Seat four had actually tried to defend her. Sam wanted to keep this in mind when deciding who to lay her anger out on. 

When she reached the table, Sam placed each of the dishes at their settings. Everyone looked up at her, confused. The blonde woman sneered at the plate before looking up. 

“We said we didn’t like it.” 

“Well you didn’t try it.” 

“And who the fuck are you? Where’s the stupid waitress, I need a refill on my wine.” Sam crossed her arms. 

“I’m the fucking chef who is trying to do her damn job.” 

“We’re not stopping you.” Said seat two. He was a broad shouldered man with red hair who looked oddly familiar. 

“Actually you are. It appears you think you’re the only table in this restaurant that I have to give a damn about. So here I am to make sure you enjoy your meal before going and cooking for the thirty other guests who actually eat what I make for them.” 

“I don’t eat seafood.” The woman sniffed. 

“Then why the fuck did you get the tasting menu?” 

“I suggested that.” It was seat four. He was a shorter man with black hair and fuck if he didn’t look familiar too. “Though I did ask if anyone would prefer not to. I explained the rules.” 

“OH don’t try and defend her, Levi. She shouldn’t be working in a restaurant.” Seat two shot out. 

“Excuse me?” Sam gritted her teeth. 

“Women shouldn’t work in restaurant kitchens. It’s a highly masculine setting. This proves my point. You’re too emotional to take criticism.” 

“That’s taking it too far.” The tall brunette in seat one said, sinking in his seat. “All the food has looked really good so far. I wanted to eat it.” 

“I thought a woman’s place _is_ in the kitchen, right? Why shouldn’t I be where men have placed women for years? Just because you have to pay me for my services this time doesn’t mean you have any right to treat me and my staff like shit. This is an award winning restaurant and just because you don’t know the right side of a chef’s knife doesn’t mean you get to pretend like you’re some critic whose opinion I should give a damn about.” 

“Do you have any idea who we are?” The man asked, turning red in the face. 

“Does it look like I give a damn, Ryan Krauss? Goalie for the Scouts, second best team in the NHL? As far as I’m concerned, you and your party had better start trying my food because I don’t tell you or Ackerman or Yeager here what to do on the ice when you’re playing, so you just shut the fuck up, eat the food that’s given to you, and don’t try to tell me how to do my job. And if I hear that you’ve insulted my waitress one more time I will personally see to it that you are banned from every five star restaurant in the area. Oh and your tip had better be twenty percent for the crap you’ve put her through.” Sam turned on her heels and entered the double doors with her head held high. Jean, Bertholt and Ymir banged pots and pans and cutting boards on her arrival. Sam returned to her position behind the line. 

“Sam, I said you’re fired.” She placed a slice of fish in a nearby pan. 

“I know, Chef. But I’m not going to leave you high and dry on a Saturday shift. You’ll get your ass handed to you. I’ll hand over my stuff at the end of the night.” Mike nodded and they finished off the night without further issue. They sent out all of the previous tasting plates and the remaining three courses that were required of them. Each time the plates came back empty the whole line cheered. Even Mike smiled. Sasha wouldn’t stop thanking Sam. By the end of the night, Sam was tired. She dropped off her keys and coat in the office, changed out of her chef pants and clogs into jeans and boots, and headed out the door. Her crew said they’d meet her at E.O., Employees Only. It was a bar run by restaurant folks for chefs and restaurant crew. They stayed open extra late to accommodate for everyone who needed food and drinks after their shifts. 

She sat at the bar and ordered a beer and a shot of whiskey from Reiner, the owner and barkeep, along with a bowl of his famous beef stew. 

“Is this a one over before you head out or should I keep a tab?” the blonde asked. 

“Tab. And keep em coming. That includes the stew.” She mumbled. Reiner nodded. He’d seen her like this before. They’d worked in a few kitchens together before she’d gotten the gig with Mike and he’d gone and opened his own place. Sam was already certain that a few of her drinks would be on the house. 

She downed her shot and was a little surprised that there was already one waiting for her. Reiner was pretty good about keeping her paced out. 

“Shit Braun, I know I had a crap night, but really?” 

“It’s from him.” Reiner pointed down a few seats where one of the reasons for Sam’s current situation was sitting. Levi Ackerman had bought her a drink. Sam would be lying if she said her heart didn’t jump a little. She came from a hockey family. She’d watched the Scouts play ever since she was a kid. Heck, she even played hockey through high school. She cheered like crazy when Levi had been drafted to her team. He was a fucking prodigy. He was the reason they’d won three cups in five years. 

He moved next to her, a glass of what she assumed to be Scotch in his hand. Silence fell over them as Sam drank the shot. She’d earned it. Her stew came out and she began eating, not caring that he was watching her every move. She could read his thoughts. Why would she eat that when she just came from a five star restaurant? Couldn’t she have something better? The truth was after a long shift most chefs wanted comfort food. They want something easy and warm and that goes down well with a drink. On her days off she ate Chinese food and pizza, smoked weed and came up with dishes for the following week. So yes, this stew was a fucking godsend. 

“I’m sorry.” He finally said, putting his glass down. “My teammate, he was trying to impress that bitch.” 

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not the worst shift I’ve ever had.” 

Levi stared at her now. He’d heard the cheers when she walked back into the kitchen after confronting his table. The entire restaurant heard. Levi had thoroughly enjoyed his meal, having been to Signal Flair on several occasions. That was why he’d suggested the tasting menu. He was always bad at trying new things, so not having to make the choice seemed like a great idea. He was thoroughly embarrassed when his teammate had insulted the waitress, and the food. However, he was not disappointed when the chef came out. He’d heard about her, read about her in blogs. She was on her way up in the industry but was fiercely loyal to Mike. She was absolutely breathtaking with that fire in her eyes. Levi’s heart was pounding when she had argued with Ryan and Kiera, a reporter who wanted to know all about the team. 

He’d smirked when she made the women in the kitchen joke. He’d made sure to tip the waitress thirty percent and he’d personally apologized to her. He’d had her before and she was the most informative waitress he’d ever had. If she wasn’t in the kitchen in a few years, Levi would be shocked. It was only when he’d apologized to her and Mike that they told them that Sam was fired. He felt bad. He’d suggested Signal Flair, he’d caused this woman to lose her livelihood. 

“But you lost your job.” Levi stared at her. She looked tired. He wondered how long she’d been awake. He knew chefs worked weird hours. She met his gaze and smiled weakly. 

“This will be the third time in eight years that Mike has fired me.” She took a sip of her drink. Levi noticed the chef knife tattoo running down her forearm. He vaguely wondered if she had any more. 

“He does that when he feels I need a vacation. Working nights, weekends, and holidays for a few years straight apparently makes me grumpy.” She grinned. 

“So you don’t get time off?” 

“Mondays. But I’m usually at the restaurant working on dishes anyway. Drives Mike up a wall.” 

“He’s lucky to have you.” 

“I’m lucky to have him. Thank you for the drink, by the way. I’m a big fan.” She smiled. “Though after tonight, I might have to switch to the Warriors.” Levi groaned. The Warriors were their rivals. 

“Of all the fucking teams-” 

“Then again, I’d have a hard time removing the Scouts tattoo, so maybe I’ll wait to the end of the season and see if you redeem yourselves.” At this, Levi quirked an eyebrow. He wanted to ask where that particular tattoo was. “Oh I’m not telling.” She answered, reading his mind. “But maybe after a few drinks you’ll get to see it.” 

“When I fuck you, you’re not going to be drunk.” He replied. She laughed. 

“So it’s a when, huh? Cocky aren’t we?” It was Levi’s turn to smirk. 

“Am I wrong?” The guilt he felt was slowly deteriorating and he wasn’t going to deny that she was someone he could definitely see himself with. She had no problem going toe to toe with him, which most people found intimidating. 

“Well, Mr. Ackerman, I must let you know, that I am not someone you forget about the next day.” 

“Aint that the truth.” Someone said from her other side. It was Jean. He and the rest of the crew had finally shown up. Sam gave them a “where the fuck have you been” look. Levi let out a small growl. It was possessive and it was enough to scare Jean. “Not like that, man. We’ve just had a couple guys show up early in the night looking for her. Wasn’t me! I swear!” Sam eyed Levi, saw the possessiveness in his eyes, and it lit a spark inside her. She leaned in. 

“It’s a little crowded here, don’t you think?” 

“Fucking claustrophobic.” He took her hand, threw a bunch of cash on the bartop and dragged her outside. “Where’s your car?” He asked. 

“I walk to work. Easier when I have a few after hours.” Levi nodded and proceeded to lead her to his car. They drove in silence. It was a lust filled silence. Levi’s hand tracing circles on her thigh when he wasn’t shifting gears. He pulled into his house and opened the door for her. 

Sam let out a low whistle when she entered the home. She’d always known hockey players could afford some nice digs, but damn, this guy knew how to do it. Before she could take anything in, Levi had closed the front door and slammed her against it. Well, if that’s how this was going to go down, that was cool. Sam wrapped her hands around his neck, only now realizing that he was shorter than her. His hands went to her waist and his lips moved to her neck. Sam let out a soft moan when he hit her weak spot. She could feel him smirking at her reaction. Well, fair was fair. She moved a leg up and pulled him closer to her, ever so coyly grinding into him. Now it was his turn to groan. 

“Too many clothes?” He asked. 

“Absolutely.” She agreed, pushing him away to take of her own shirt. Levi attacked her so quickly that she didn’t get to register that he had done the same thing. It was only when skin met skin that she realized he was shirtless. 

“Fuck me.” She whispered when her hands ran over his back. His hands found her waist once more and lifted her up, forcing her to wrap her legs around his torso. 

“Yes, Chef.” He carried her effortlessly up the stairs and into what Sam assumed was his bedroom. Levi laid her down and began kissing her collarbone, grinding into her, letting his hands settle on her bra and removing it faster than Sam thought humanly possible. Levi made quick work of the rest of her clothes before staring at her. He’d found the Scout tattoo on her right hipbone. He traced it with a wicked grin. 

“I should have sent food back a long time ago if it meant I got to feast on this.” 

“Food puns? Really?” Sam growled. “Get down here and score a fucking goal.” She pulled him down until his lips met hers once more.

**Author's Note:**

> God, I am so sorry for this! I had to get it out of my brain and it's so bad. Please if you do work in the restaurant industry, NEVER DO THAT! You will lose your job and probably never work again if word gets out!!!


End file.
